


Altar

by eigengrau



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Floki x trees otp, Gen, Nature, Norse Myths & Legends, Poetry, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A creature worships at the forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Altar

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a straight-up fic and somehow turned into poetry. I tried to write it sort of in-character as Floki? It's weird, but I imagine that he probably has a very bizarre inner narrative anyway, so I'll just chalk it up to that. Also I'm aware that the use of "its" instead of "his" may be a little confusing. Sorry about that.

A pile of bones:

on the forest floor they lie

at the base of the largest tree, one on top of the other

like an offering to the ancient gods, the fathers and mothers

fur still clinging to the yellowed enamel.

 

Wet leaves shift beneath bare feet,

the cool damp air a balm against skin

as it kneels at the altar of disappeared flesh,

hands clawing forward, seeking,

as the skies burst above.

 

Night's rain glistens on the bones, on their smoothness,

on the grass and rocks and the rough skin of the tree,

the heartbeat wet through the bark, beneath aching calloused palms.

Today's rain slicks its hair against its face

and blurs the kohl that hides its sight from sun.

 

An uncle's hammer sparks

and lighting cracks the skull of the sky;

reflected in the polished white, the curving cage,

ribs arcing like arms around an invisible treasure,

an embrace to guard the slick vanished ruby reward inside.

 

When its fingers touch the bones, the bark,

it can see the truth beneath its palm,

one eye with the sight of a huge black wolf

hunting, howling,

blood on its tongue and teeth.

 

The other eye is still, save for breathing and the sound of growing roots,

it feels the stretch, it sees only sun and rain, wind and fog,

it sees the man below and knows him

knows him by his voice and by his touch 

and by his strange long body.

 

To see itself as a man is to see itself as the others must,

twisted and wet and wild

with arms wrapped around trees and bones

like lovers, in a way,

speaking with them, understanding.

 

This is its church

here, in the forest of ash and elm, of beasts' bone,

at the altar of woman and man and the wolf,

the guide between,

not human and not animal, but no god, either.

 

It has no axe like its brothers

no shield like its sisters

and the rings that their children wear

are absent from its arms

but it has no need of axes, shields, or rings.

 

With bones of a wolf and the voice of a man

it stays, in the forest's church,

at the grave of its beastly mother while fire dances

like mischief

in the eyes it stole from its father.

 

 


End file.
